Page 7 of Deep End

I think about it during Pilates, and dryland training, and while climbing up the infinite steps of the diving tower. I think about it as I stretch every muscle I possess, with special care for my tender, stupid shoulder, the one that all my doctors insist is healed, but in my nightmares shatters like a champagne flute at least twice a week.

By the time practice is over, I’ve made up my mind. And while the rest of the team chatters away in the locker room, I walk to her side, take a deep breath, and ask, “Could we go get coffee after this? Just you and I.”

CHAPTER 4

ITHOUGHT IT MIGHT BE HARD TO SAY OUT LOUD, MOSTLY BECAUSEI never have, not to anyone who wasn’t . . .intimatelyinvolved in the matter. But the words flow out of me, as smooth as a perfect dive. No hiccups, no stutters, just a knife-sharp slice through rippling water. I picture a panel of seven smiling judges, raising several perfect-ten boards in unison.

Full points, Ms. Vandermeer. This disclosure of your sexual history was unimpeachably executed. Now hit the showers.

Not gonna lie, I’m feeling pretty proud. Unfortunately, Pen isn’t impressed. “You are intothat?” She blinks and glances around the Coupa Café. Classes started this week, and campus is too crowded. Backpack straps wrapped around tanned shoulders, stickered water bottles, a new cohort of freshmen that comes in two versions: invincible and terrified. I started out the former, but my slide to the latter wasswift.

Pen sets her elbows on the small wooden table, satisfied with our level of privacy. “You’re into what Luk’s into.”

“Well, I can’t be sure about that.”

“But you said . . . ?”

“There are many,manyfacets to kink and BDSM.”

“Right.”

“I’ve never talked with Lukas before this morning. I have no idea what he likes.”

“Should I tell you? He—”

“I—no, that’s not . . .” I clear my throat. Starting to have some regrets here. “That’s beyond the, um, scope of this conversation.”

“Ah.”

“You shouldn’t feel like you have to explain what you guys . . . but I was there”—unwillingly—“when you and Victoria were discussing the matter, and she seemed to be lending a slightly less than, um, sympathetic ear—”

“Hall of Fame–worthy understatement. Please, continue.”

“I just wanted to offer myself as a resource, as someone who has experience in . . . this.”

“And ‘this’ would be . . . ?”

“An established relationship in which only one party is interested in kink. Figuring out something you can both enjoy and can affirmatively consent to. If that’s what you want, of course,” I add with a small smile.

She leans back in her chair to study me, and I know what she’s seeing: damp dark hair, guarded dark eyes, unexpectedly dark sexual history. I’ve never navel-gazed too much about what turns me on—she could slap me on a microscope slide and label meSexual Deviant, and I wouldn’t bat an eye. Still, it’s nice to see more curiosity than judgment in the tilt of her head.

“Luk wants to be in charge. Is that what you want, too, or . . . ?”

I shake my head. “The opposite, actually.”

“Ah.” She curls a finger in an auburn strand of hair. Pen’s coloring was the first thing I noticed about her, back in the varsity circuit. How strikingly beautiful she was—generous, too. In competition, between dives, athletes usually avoid looking at each other. Not Pen, though. Always a kind smile. Never arrogant, even though shewas always ahead in our age group, by leaps and bounds. The flag bearer at the Junior Olympics. She’d dive with pink, then blue hair. Friendship bracelets made by her fans. Nail art. I found her impossibly cool. I’ll nevernotbe intimidated by her, at least a little bit.

“How did you discover it?”

“How did I discover . . . ?”

“That you were into it.”

A guy who looks remarkably like Dr. Rodriguez’s fascist TA, the one who docked one point off my orgo final for writing the wrong date, walks by. Bet he’d love an earful. “I always knew, to some degree. I mean, I wasn’t browsing eBay for deals on PVC masks in middle school, but once I became, um, aware of and interested in sex, I always had . . . fantasies. Ideas.” I shrug, and don’t add,It felt right. Itfeelsright.

“I see.” Pen nods, thoughtful. “And how did you end up actually, you know,doingit?”

“My high school boyfriend and I dated for about three years.” I skip the part where we were neighbors, then seventh-grade best friends, then fell in love. I trusted him, and it was an easy conversation, as easy as everything else with Josh. Everything except for that phone call during freshman year. His subdued tone as he explained,It’s not just because of her . . . honestly, the distance is a lot. And maybe our personalities are too different for this to last?That one, it had been difficult. “I told him what I was interested in.”

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